Words: "Try to wake up, Halifax, it’s later than you think You’ve shot your cuffs for far too long, had far too much to drink And if you thought the price of eggs had slipped back from the brink It’s worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that Something from your magazine got stuck between my teeth And now everything I hear or see or touch just smells of meat ’Cos the bandits and the butchers are dividing up the street And Captain Bligh says things don’t look so bad But no, it’s worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that And you say trust the people, ’cos the people have a dream But people, honey-pie, are not as stupid as they seem No, no, they’re worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that. Gather round, my friends, see what the cat just voted in Lie back and think of Halifax; take it on the chin While Captain Bligh drops anchor at his island in the sun What’s worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that? Your fingernails keep growing, growing, growing when you’re dead And my song’s a filthy immigrant residing in your head And you cannot escape from her, tucked safely in your bed And if you think she’s packing up her trunk, you’re mad Yup – it’s worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that. I never talk to strangers and I’ve never read a book But I, my little bottle-cork, aren’t as stupid as I look I’m worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that I’m worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that I’m worse, much worse, much fucking worse than that Much worse than that."

Words: "The Russian David Bowie lights a cigarette Breaks out the free association wine Feels the needle scratch the permafrost Another life, another world, a different time Two pairs of jackboots in the snow outside Wonders how fashion got so cold Now he’s dying again So he counts to ten And the real thing ends And the retrospectives begin And the fat lady sings And the fat lady takes a bow And the old guard falls And the captains brawl ’Til the story’s mauled Into a shape that could never offend And we clap at the end Then we fall to the ground The Russian David Bowie blows on his fingertips Thinks he feels an album coming on Hears vibes and Mellotrons in the Arctic night Dials up the Russian Brian Jones His cigarette burns out as his hand grows numb But the phone rings on and on and on and on Now he’s dying again So he counts to ten And the real thing ends And the retrospectives begin And the fat lady sings And the fat lady takes a bow And it seems to be Modern history Is a lottery That no one ever bought a ticket to win And the fat lady sings And then she falls to the ground She falls to the ground And she don’t make a sound."

Words: "What if your tribe... Became somebody else’s tribe Just existed in your fevered mind Simply wandered off and died What if your tribe, what if your tribe… What if your tribe... All ate the hallelujah breakfast Did something beautiful and reckless Were forced to wear the burning necklace What if your tribe, what if your tribe… What if your tribe... Were kept behind the velvet rope Were excommunicated by the Pope One day just blew their minds on dope What if your tribe, what if your tribe… What if your tribe... All fled to Marseille on the run Got careless with a loaded gun Became an exclusive tribe of one What if your tribe, what if your tribe… But you’re never alone with a song in your heart …a song in your heart, oh no… ...but my God, I’m so alone… Well, this song is not for you. What if your tribe... Were carried off by Prussian Flu All saw the light, except for you Found out just what you planned to do What if your tribe, what if your tribe… What if your tribe... Simply aspired to something grander Were ruined by rumour, filth and slander Ran off and joined the Spanish Amanda What if your tribe, what if your tribe…"

Words: "They may never name the virus That turns a good dog bad But tie him up and taunt him (no, no, no) Sure he’s going to bite your hand You blew into town one Sunday To break some hearts or break the peace Drinking gin ’til early Monday (yeah, yeah, yeah) Doing anything you pleased Well, the law’s a fine old work of fiction When all the lawmen are in bed But there’s still poetic justice (no, no, no) In the hearts of some honest men And there’s a second pair of headlights A hint of longing on the early morning air And there is stillness at one hundred miles an hour Someone loves you; drive with care Someone loves you; drive with care."

Words: "I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I see your filaments glow It’s the start of your show And he’s no one you know And she’s no one you know But I swallow your knife And consider your price And he swears on your life That he’s only your wife I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you Got the vinegar shakes So I stamp on the brakes And the mescaline snakes Through my cinnamon aches In a bar on the moon Sits a lonesome dragoon And he’s playing your tune On a stolen bassoon But what happens in Greece Doesn’t trouble the police They’ve all fallen asleep While they’re guarding the fleece I’m retracing the steps From your lips to your breast And I’m catching your breath It’s the tiniest death I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you All the gun bores in Wisconsin They couldn’t blow you away They couldn’t blow you away They couldn’t blow you away They couldn’t blow you away I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you I only want to beguile you..."

Words: "You put the cigarette to your mouth You came from the north but were halfway south In a first class seat And people to meet You took twenty seconds to guess my name I missed my stop and stayed on the train And so I lost my job For an art school snob You said you wanted a heartless man I said that I’d do the best I can But I threw the fight On my very first night You took me to Kensington Reach for tea You stole the keys to your dad’s MG It was an early sign That you’d never stay mine But did I hear you straight? I’m not Jimmy the Saint For goodness’ sake For goodness’ sake I was the one you loved to hate But I was never on the take For goodness’ sake Oh no We got a bedsit in Kentish Town Your dad paid the rent and you slept around And I stayed out nights To avoid the fights I found you in bed with a fine art dealer Spent three nights in my Ford Cortina But you won me back With a rum and black Sometimes it takes you a year to see The bullet you should have dodged instantly Like the bloody sheet That you dropped at my feet You watched the bedroom go up in flames All just part of the fun and games In which you’re running blind With an axe to grind But did I hear you straight? I’m not Jimmy the Saint For goodness’ sake For goodness’ sake I watched you squirm and shake But I was never on the make For goodness’ sake Oh no You ran off to Dublin with some girl you knew at school We never spoke again but I don’t regret you and I won’t forget you And did I hear you straight? I’m not Jimmy the Saint For goodness’ sake For goodness’ sake I was the one you loved to hate But I was never on the take For goodness’ sake Oh no Oh no"

Words: "Ein, zwei, drei, vier… My sister came to see me after twenty years beneath the sod (darndest thing) She brought some Go-Betweens LPs and the harmonica she got from God (darndest thing) We hung out underwater and we sang the Corporation blues (darndest thing) And when I woke I found that she’d run off with my Juliet shoes (darndest thing) I am not an animal and I am not a man I don’t think I’m a mineral – I’ve tried, but don’t think that I can I could be some work of art, but what’s wrong with the eyes? They don’t seem to show a heart, a soul, no inner life Doctor Benny Mandelbrot is spiralling into the blue (darndest thing) And here’s mister Desmond Morris touting tickets for his human zoo (darndest thing) While over in the bayou the crocodiles just bide their time (darndest thing) ’Til child abuse is legal and formaldehyde tastes like wine (darndest thing) The moment is passing now … now the moment’s passed There’ll be no more moments for us, now… that moment was the very last Nothing to remember, nothing to forget Everyone is born again in this bright shining hell Well, I was born in Carthage and I grew up in the burning sun (darndest thing) Life was pretty sweet until the Romans cut off both my thumbs (darndest thing) It’s hard to start the engine with a carburettor soaked in gin (darndest thing) While Hugh Hefner and Isaiah are debating what they’d count as sin (darndest thing) He says: Where’s a theologian when you need one? Yeah – where’s a theologian when you need one? Oh, here comes one now Here comes one now Funf, sechs, sieben, acht… …neun, zehn, elf, zwolf They built a Paris bistro where the border checkpoint used to be (darndest thing) You order with your muscle and can pay in any currency (darndest thing) Beyond the Black Cat Roundabout nobody says their prayers (darndest thing) But they’ll shake you down for fingerprints, you accent and your pubic hair (darndest thing) And sometimes you hear rumours of a tunnel deep beneath the sea (darndest thing) But people just recycle all the stupid shit they want to hear (darndest thing, darndest thing…)"

Words: "Sweet dreams, Charlie de Gaulle Good morning, holiday from hell Good riddance, everything you ever did Why go to Rome When one day Rome will come to you? It’s blood transfusion time for twenty quid The claret spills A smear of Blighty on the map With looks like ours it’s hard to go off-grid And we knew Bob Mugabe as a kid World Service is going out of range World Service from Liverpool to the Orange Free State Dig up Sitting Bull Dig up Chairman Mao and Henry Ford Dig up the Zulu and the Iroquoi Lemons, tea and cocaine Each leaves a stain you can’t remove Oh, the tricks we learned at the Savoy Where we knew Oswald Mosley as a boy World Service is going out of range World Service from Liverpool to the Orange Free State To the Orange Free State To the Orange Free State A land of peace and joy Where we knew Margaret Thatcher as a boy And she said…" World Service is going out of range World Service from Liverpool to the Orange Free State To the Orange Free State The Orange Free State..."

Words: "The best light is electric light In any colour that you choose From neon red to chlorine blue And the best line is the Northern Line It’s the line that took you home To an attic room in Golders Green And the best cat is the station cat He knows the times of all the trains The smoke and diesel oil are in his veins And the best shop was a record shop A shop that’s boarded up and gone And that shop was called Lost London Hammersmith lies Under pigeon-coloured skies Lost London You could buy fanzines and cassettes Or a colour A-Z Lost London It had a duffel-coated crew Who had nothing much to do Lost London They’d sell you weekend Travelcards Or old Japanese guitars Lost London You can go back to Maida Vale But you can’t go back to ‘84 You can go back to Putney Bridge No, no, you can’t go back at all You can catch the number 46 You can go back to Kentish Town But all the streets have moved around They smoked roll-up cigarettes In their corduroy kecks Lost London They had old comics on a shelf And they’d let you help yourself Lost London They had some Go-Betweens flyers On the Calor-gas fire Lost London They had a taxidermy crow And a transistor radio Lost London You can go back to Kensal Rise But you can’t unlearn the things you know You can go back to Streatham Hill But Christ, you’d really shouldn’t go You search the faces on the Tube Hand yourself in at Lost and Found But no-one will claim you now They didn’t care how much you spent And they never paid the rent Lost London And they couldn’t give a jot About your palace or your squat Lost London It united all the tribes Of anaemic girls and boys Lost London It gave a vinyl education To a velvet generation Lost London And when the shop shut, after dark You couldn’t tell the boys and girls apart You couldn’t tell the boys and girls apart Couldn’t tell the boys and girls apart Hammersmith lies Under pigeon-coloured skies Lost London You could buy fanzines and cassettes Or that colour A-Z Lost London It had a duffel-coated crew Who had nothing much to do Lost London They’d sell you weekend Travelcards Or old Japanese guitars Lost London And the best line is the Northern Line And the best girl is a Yorkshire girl… who moved to London And the best cat is a station cat And the best wine is stolen wine And the car is a Swedish car… made in 1974 And the best hair is back-combed hair And the best coat is an army coat And the best guitar is a green guitar..."